


from the ground up

by esmeraldablazingsky



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Andróg x two (2) mom friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Gardening, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 16:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/pseuds/esmeraldablazingsky
Summary: Beleg is concerned that the outlaws aren’t getting their vitamins.





	from the ground up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrystalNavy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalNavy/gifts).

“I think Dwarves must get their vitamins some other way,” said Beleg. 

“What?” said Túrin. The comment had come out of nowhere, or at least out of a contemplative silence on Beleg’s part. 

“Vegetables,” Beleg clarified. “You’ve been down to Mîm’s food stores, right?”

“Yes,” said Túrin. 

“Am I missing something, or are there no green things there?” asked Beleg, in the tones of someone deeply alarmed by the absence of said green things. “I’m sure he trusts you more than me.” 

“No, you’re right,” said Túrin. He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about Dwarves. I suppose I could ask.” 

All Mîm would say, as it turned out, was that some things would remain mysteries. At least, that was how Túrin summed up his answer to Beleg the next day. 

“Well, that won’t do,” said Beleg. Andróg made a disbelieving noise from nearby. 

“What?” said Beleg. 

“Wasn’t listening,” said Andróg. “That was just in general.” 

Túrin stifled a smile. 

“Charming,” said Beleg dryly. “Anyway, where was I? Right. I know  _ you _ know how to find and identify plants, but…” he glanced at the scattered outlaws lounging nearby and made a mostly-concealed expression somewhere between worry and disappointment. 

“Some of them do,” said Túrin. “Others don’t care quite so much.” 

“I see,” said Beleg. “Care to tell me who’s who?”    
“The most knowledgeable is Algund,” said Túrin, his eyes seeking out the old, grizzled Man in question from across the dimly lit cavern. 

“I thought it might be,” said Beleg. He watched Túrin point out a few others and list several names of men who happened to be out of view. 

“So if you wanted to gather a party and go looking for plants,” said Túrin, “which would be a good idea, those are the people you’d be best off asking.” 

“Out of curiosity, who  _ shouldn’t _ I be asking?” asked Beleg. Túrin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and one side of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. 

“I think you already know,” he said dryly. 

“Right,” said Beleg. He fell silent for a moment, then raised his voice in a call that made Túrin raise one disbelieving eyebrow at him. 

“Hey, Andróg,” said Beleg, “Would you mind accompanying me—” 

“Yes,” said Andróg before Beleg could finish his question. 

“Ah, well,” said Beleg, “it was worth a try.” 

“I think you should go with him, actually, Andróg,” said Túrin lightly. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

It was Andróg who had spoken, but for once, Beleg found himself in agreement. He had never, in all his long years of life, met someone quite as belligerent and ornery as Andróg. If he was honest, his question had been more of a mild joke than anything. 

But Túrin was refusing to meet his eyes, and he looked as if he was trying not to laugh, and Beleg sighed. 

“No,” Andróg was saying. It was more of a plea than an ultimatum, which had Beleg smiling despite himself. 

“Yes,” said Túrin. He fixed Andróg with a familiar steely gaze, and Andróg groaned. 

“He doesn’t want me around any more than I want to  _ be _ around,” he said, waving halfheartedly at Beleg. 

“You’ll both have to deal with each other for a little while, then,” said Túrin, his tone frustratingly lighthearted. “Besides, Andróg, the faster you learn, the less time you’ll have to spend together in the first place.” 

Andróg looked up and met Beleg’s eyes for the first time in the course of the conversation. 

“Fine,” he said. “Deal.” He got up, stretching and glaring at Beleg as if sizing up a challenge. 

“I’m going to be the fastest learner you’ve ever met,” he grumbled under his breath. “So, when do we start?” 

As it turned out, they started the very next day. Beleg thought it best not to waste time, as did Túrin, and Andróg had not forgotten the promise of not having to spend time with Beleg if he managed to learn enough about plants to satisfy Túrin. 

Andróg woke with the sunrise. It was his normal state of being, which had surprised Beleg at first, but had become less and less foreign the more Beleg got to know him. He seemed a sharp enough man— too sharp, even— and driven from the inside, like Túrin was. 

Andróg was not at all cooperative in Beleg’s endeavor to get to know Túrin’s men. He told Beleg little, and it took quite a bit of coaxing, not unlike Túrin himself. 

Beleg shook his head. It was too early to be comparing his favorite and least favorite of the outlaws in such a way. 

“Good morning,” he greeted Andróg, the words as much a deliberate provocation as a friendly gesture. 

“Eat now, if you’re going to,” snapped Andróg in return. “You and I both want this over with.” 

Beleg raised an eyebrow. 

Is anyone else up?” he asked, curious.    
“No. Shut up and get to it.” 

“No need to be so hasty,” said Beleg mildly. “We’re going to be alone, then,” he said, fetching himself some of what was left of the group’s  _ lembas _ store. 

“If that’s the case, maybe we should wait for more people,” said Andróg in a voice that dripped with a truly shocking amount of misanthropy. 

“Mm,” said Beleg, “It’ll go faster this way. I don’t doubt that you’ll be a quicker learner than some of the others would.” 

Andróg made no reply. If Beleg looked hard enough, he fancied that his sharp eyes could pick up a faint dusting of deep red on his cheeks, although he was steadfastly refusing to meet Beleg’s eyes. 

“Take a moment to consider that, then,” said Beleg. 

“Take a moment to stop putting off eating so we can go,” said Andróg, recovering his voice. Beleg grinned and did so. There was a fine line between making Andróg flustered and making him stab somebody, and Beleg thought that perhaps he was getting better at treading it. Either way, he’d have plenty of practice soon enough, and if a compliment was all it took to shut Andróg up temporarily… well. Beleg could do that. 

“Now,” said Beleg, “the one you just picked up is edible. The spring shoots are very nice, and the seeds have some medicinal applications.” 

Andróg said nothing. He turned the plant over in his hands, then put it into the repurposed quiver at his hip, which never held arrows nowadays. Beleg had gotten the tale of what had happened from Túrin, and he couldn’t help a little bit of sympathy for his fellow archer. Former archer, at the very least, and if Túrin was to be believed— which he usually was— he had been very good. 

“Do you miss the bow?” asked Beleg. Andróg shot him a deeply distrustful glance. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Would you?” 

“I know I would,” said Beleg. There was silence for a short while as the two of them walked in  silence , the spring air just on the right side of too warm. 

“If it had been your son I shot, would you have made me break my bow?” asked Andróg suddenly. 

“I don’t have a son,” said Beleg. His footsteps were nearly silent on the old leaf-litter of the previous fall. Andróg’s were less so, but still admirably controlled, and Beleg wondered how much of his knowledge Túrin had shared with the other outlaws, apart from the lore of plants. 

“If you’d shot Túrin, I might have,” said Beleg after a pause. 

“I wouldn’t do that.” 

“I know you wouldn’t.” 

Another silence, this one heavy and filled with a strange sort of resigned jealousy. Beleg cleared his throat and called Andróg over to examine a small cluster of mushrooms, breaking the tension. 

“Eat just a few of these, and they’ll kill you,” he said, “but they do make a rather effective painkiller if administered by contact.” 

“Good to know,” said Andróg. Beleg wrinkled his nose at him. 

“The poison part, or the painkilling one?” he asked. The only answer he got was a frustratingly smug glance as Andróg carefully removed a few of the mushrooms and put them away. 

“You’d better not poison anyone,” warned Beleg. 

“Yeah, sure,” said Andróg, without much venom. “We’ll see.” 

“You’re back,” said Túrin. 

“We are,” agreed Beleg. He watched as Túrin’s eyes followed Andróg, who was stubbornly refusing to say anything to Beleg now that there was a chance he might be seen fraternizing. 

“How did it go?” asked Túrin, more quietly, as Andróg vanished inside the cave. 

“About as well as I could possibly have expected,” said Beleg, and he didn’t think he was imagining the pleased gleam in Túrin’s eyes. “I was expecting more attempts at stabbing.”    
He said it lightly, but in retrospect, Beleg hadn’t been left alone with Andróg since their first meeting, probably by design. He thought about asking Túrin what had made him change his mind on their compatibility, but thought better of it— Túrin never let slip anything he didn’t want to say. 

“Anyway,” said Beleg, smiling and shifting his weight to look inside the pouch at his hip. “I’m sure Andróg will let you have what he collected, but as it is, I was able to collect quite a few spring seeds.” 

Túrin nodded approvingly. 

“That’s good,” he said. 

“Incidentally,” said Beleg, “Is there anywhere on this rock that I don’t know about that would be suitable for planting?” 

“Oh,” said Túrin. “Hm. Beside the birches is the best planting soil I’ve seen, but there isn’t much space, so if we can haul soil, there are some flat sheltered ledges…” 

Beleg stood and listened to Túrin describing the topography of Amon Rûdh, trying to remember if he’d explored all the areas Túrin mentioned. 

“...And I see you have mushrooms,” he was saying. “I’m sure I could convince Mîm to show us somewhere to plant them. You might have to share, though.” There was that amused spark in his eyes again, and Beleg smiled. 

“That’s fine,” he said. Túrin grinned outright, then, the expression lighting his face like none other, and Beleg was glad that he was the only one who could see it. 

Well. Perhaps, anyway. 

“Does my intuition deceive me, or did you have ulterior motives in sending me out with Andróg?” Beleg asked. 

“Is it so wrong that I would like the two of you to be able to work together?” asked Túrin. His tone was cool, but Beleg had known him long enough to detect slight defensiveness in it. 

“Ah-ha,” said Beleg. “I knew it.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”    
Beleg paused and thought it over. 

“No, I suppose it’s not wrong,” he said. “I… he is your trusted companion as well, I suppose, although I can’t pretend to know why.” 

That was a lie, though, or at least Beleg could feel it becoming one. Túrin let his gaze rest on Beleg’s face for a long moment before he reached out, squeezed his shoulder once, and turned to go inside. 

“Thank you, my friend,” he said. 

“Always cryptic, aren’t you,” responded Beleg, and then, “You’re welcome.” 

He followed Túrin inside and leaned against the wall as Túrin began to organize the outlaws into groups and assign them to tasks. That sort of skill would have been quite an asset to a marchwarden, Beleg found himself thinking— but then again, the wildness and hardship of the outlaws’ lives had its own charm. 

He shook his head and smiled to himself. What was he thinking? Perhaps it had only been too long since he had raised plants from seed to leaf. It was good, maybe, to turn his mind once again from warcraft to the tenderness of life. 

And, Beleg thought, some of the outlaws could use the change as well. 

“Where’s Andróg going?” he asked Túrin.    
“I put him on soil duty,” Túrin replied, not without amusement. “I think the two of you have had enough togetherness today.”    
Beleg rolled his eyes and gave a sound of agreement, at which Túrin laughed. 

“Right, then, what am I doing, my captain?” asked Beleg. Túrin elbowed him halfheartedly. 

“You’re teaching people how to plant seeds,” said Túrin. “Start near the birches, because we still need time to bring soil up.” 

“Will do,” said Beleg. The glance Túrin gave him in return made him wonder if he knew the effect his very presence had on Beleg. 

Ah, Men, thought Beleg. So oddly unaffected by the power of eye contact. 

He went outside to clear his head. 

Beleg was joined in his planting endeavors by three of the outlaws, only one of whom he was particularly familiar with. Ulrad was quiet, and mostly stuck to his morals despite a large amount of innate suspicion, and seemed to have been the closest thing Andróg had had to a friend before Túrin had arrived. 

“Take some of these small ones,” said Beleg. He didn’t know the names of most of the plants in Taliska, but his descriptions were good enough for the outlaws. Ulrad nodded and raked the stick he was holding across the ground at Beleg’s direction, creating a furrow for the tiny seeds cradled in his palm. 

“This far apart,” said Beleg, measuring the furrow against his boot. Beside himself and Ulrad, the other two Men were matching their work with a second row. Ulrad patted the earth down under Beleg’s gaze, and without having been asked, went to the pool to scoop up water for the seeds. Above them, the sun continued its lazy arc into the West, and a soft wind rustled the uppermost leaves of the stunted birches growing by the pool. 

“So,” said Beleg, crouching beside Ulrad to help close up the disturbed earth. Ulrad flicked his braid back over his shoulder and met Beleg’s eyes, looking a little intimidated but mostly calm. 

“Question?” he asked. 

“Sure, if you’d like,” said Beleg. “Tell me about Túrin and Andróg.”    
To Beleg’s surprise— but not really— the corner of Ulrad’s mouth twitched with suppressed mirth. 

“Ah, so it really does go three ways,” he said, amusedly. “Or at least two.” Beleg made a face at Ulrad, which only made him laugh harder. 

“You could guess what that means, I am sure,” said Ulrad. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Beleg, only half joking— he could guess, yes, but he wanted to hear it from someone else’s mouth. 

“Elves,” said Ulrad, shaking his head. “I have always heard they say both yes and no. Very well.” He sat down in the dirt, looping his arms around his knees, and Beleg assumed a similar position. 

“You would not believe,” said Ulrad, “the amount of time I have spent listening to Andróg complain about you. He is quite enamored with Túrin, you know. If you think he’s mean now, be glad you weren’t around earlier.” 

Beleg hummed his assent, and Ulrad seemed to relax a little at the implicit invitation to continue. 

“You and Túrin are together, are you not?” he asked. “Is the manner of the Elves different in these things?” 

“What,” said Beleg. 

“You’re with Túrin. Andróg wants to be with Túrin. It’s simple,” said Ulrad. 

“That doesn’t sound simple,” said Beleg. “Nothing is simple with Túrin,” he added, and a smile touched the corners of his mouth. 

“Simple  _ enough _ ,” conceded Ulrad, and he looked to the furrowed earth before the two of them, waving one hand vaguely at it. “Start from the ground up.” 

“I think that may be what Túrin wants us to do,” said Beleg. Ulrad said nothing more, but he didn’t get up or leave, and Beleg didn’t ask him to. He’d given good enough advice, after all, and if he could trust one outlaw to do that, then— well. Nothing was out of the question. 

Andróg was very good at hauling soil, although he didn’t like it much. That was not a surprise in any form, but what  _ was _ a surprise was that rather than continue to do so, he approached Beleg after two days of garden preparation of his own accord. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” asked Beleg. 

“We need more seeds,” said Andróg bluntly. “We have more than enough space now.” 

“Are you offering to come with, or just asking me to collect things?” 

“I’m coming with.” 

Beleg blinked. Sure, so Andróg hadn’t asked if Beleg  _ wanted _ him along, but in his own way, he was offering his help. 

“Did Túrin put you up to this?” asked Beleg, raising one eyebrow. 

“No, he put me on soil duty,” said Andróg. “I’m trading places with Algund.” 

“Awful rude of you to make poor Algund carry all that dirt.” 

“Do you want my help or not?” asked Andróg. 

And so they left Amon Rûdh together again, following the invisible path of safety between the countless stones. 

“Tell me what that is,” said Beleg. 

“Wild mallow,” said Andróg without missing a beat. 

“Good,” said Beleg approvingly. Andróg rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. “Collect some of that, would you? Seeds too.” 

Beleg watched as Andróg found room for a bundle of mallow stalks in his repurposed quiver. He had to admit, the cheerful spray of light green leaves swaying above scuffed leather was more endearing than it should have been. The sun was out, and shining in all its spring splendor, and maybe,  _ maybe, _ Beleg understood what Túrin saw in Andróg after all. 

“These are fairly hardy plants,” said Beleg. “They’re very easy to grow, and good for more than one thing. What do you say we go back and plant some? I’m sure even you couldn’t kill them unless you tried.”

“Shut up,” said Andróg mildly. “Fine. I’m running out of space anyways.” He straightened up and brushed dirt off his palms before raking one hand back through his hair, making Beleg wince. 

Maybe one day he could get Andróg to take better care of himself. And wouldn’t the garden help, anyway? 

“What are you staring at?” asked Andróg. 

“Nothing,” said Beleg. “Well, perhaps a butterfly five leagues away,” he half-joked. Andróg raised one eyebrow disbelievingly at him. 

“Elves,” he said, shaking his head and accidentally undoing half the messy ponytail his hair was put up in. “Whatever. Let’s go, then.” 

He waited for Beleg to move before setting off at a clip back towards the hill. 

Túrin met them halfway, having left himself to find some sticks that would work as trellises. He had leaves in his hair, and scratches on his face, Beleg noted— but as usual, he didn’t seem to care much. 

“Beleg,” he said. “Andróg. How did your trip go?” 

“Fine,” said Beleg and Andróg simultaneously. Túrin grinned through his bundle of sticks at the slightly suspicious glances Andróg and Beleg leveled at one another. 

“Could be worse,” he said. “What’s that? Mallow? It might grow well on the southernmost new garden. Want to help us plant?”

This last was addressed to Andróg, who shrugged and muttered something like  _ guess it won’t hurt. _

“These will grow quickly enough,” said Beleg cheerfully. “Elbereth only knows I’m glad they will. I can’t help but wonder how you’ve all survived so long without vegetables.” 

“Spite,” said Andróg helpfully. 

“I don’t doubt it,” agreed Beleg. He and Andróg accompanied Túrin to the south garden, which was a sheltered rock ledge covered in a respectable layer of dirt. Ulrad was there by himself, pouring water from a skin over the soil. He looked up when Túrin, Andróg, and Beleg entered, and said nothing, but he did wave in greeting. 

“Hello,” said Túrin. “We’re planting mallow in here.” 

“I see,” said Ulrad. He helped Andróg sort out the plants he’d gathered from the seeds, after which point the two of them left with the stalks, leaving Túrin and Beleg to plant. 

“You’re working better together,” said Túrin once they had gotten through a few rows of seeds, nodding towards the path by which Andróg had left. 

“We are,” said Beleg, who had gotten over most of his surprise. “I suppose it’s thanks to you— Túrin? Did you want to talk about something?” 

“Sometimes I wish you couldn’t tell those things,” said Túrin. “Maybe later.” 

“How much later?” asked Beleg. Túrin fixed his gaze on the freshly turned earth. 

“How about when these are big enough to eat?” he asked. “That would be a good time for beginnings.” 

“Now, now, what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Beleg, but he got no answer. It didn’t matter all that much to him, anyhow. It wouldn’t be long until the spring shoots had grown into stems, into leaves. He thought he knew what Túrin was going to ask, in any case, and some more time to think about it wouldn’t hurt. 

Mîm was not as put out as Beleg had feared he might be at the amount of his home that was being converted into garden space. Beleg had thought that the old dwarf might distrust the raising of plants as a disdain-worthy Elvish art, but all he did was gripe about the dirt that the outlaws still had to learn to properly sweep from the floor. 

In time, they did, just as in time, the first green sprouts began to make their way up from the garden plots. 

“I think some people might actually be excited about this,” said Túrin. 

“I am,” said Beleg. 

“I know you are,” said Túrin, his eyes flicking to Beleg’s face and away again. “It was your idea, after all. I’m more surprised by the others.” 

Beleg hummed in agreement. 

“You’ve done a good job with these people,” he said at last. “I have to admit, I was never sure about your decision to stay, but…” he smiled, and added, “You’re quite something.” 

“It wasn’t all me,” Túrin protested. 

“Who was it, then?”

“Well—” said Túrin— “you have to give them credit, too. And yourself.” 

“You know, most of them don’t like me all that much.” 

“You’d be surprised,” said Túrin. 

Beleg was, when he went to check on the mallow plants and found Andróg crouched with one knee on the ground beside the sprouts, inspecting them. 

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” he asked. 

“I planted these,” said Andróg indignantly. “Can’t I look at them?” 

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Beleg. 

“They’re overwatered,” said Andróg, half to himself. “Ulrad had better not have watered them twice yesterday.” 

He looked up to see Beleg staring at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“I feel like you’ve learned enough about plants to satisfy Túrin,” Beleg observed. 

“Have I?” asked Andróg, a strange look on his face. “We’ll see, when these grow.” 

_ We certainly will, _ thought Beleg. He checked on the plants; they were indeed overwatered. That night, he heard Andróg telling Ulrad off for watering the south garden when Algund already had.

It wouldn’t take long for the plants to grow under that sort of care, thought Beleg. 

It was a little more than halfway through spring, and the weather was warm and clear, when Túrin finally asked. Or rather, he brought Beleg outside to look at how the plants were coming along, which amounted to about the same thing, and they both knew it. 

“Are these ready, do you think?” asked Túrin, kneeling to inspect one pale green leaf. 

“Sure,” said Beleg. “Are you?” 

“For—” said Túrin. “Oh.” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to wait, and I’m almost sure now, but I should still ask. You… I know you started out on the worst possible terms, but how do you feel about Andróg, now?” 

“Good,” said Beleg truthfully. It would have taken him a longer time to answer, but he had been figuring it out for some time then, and he found that distrust and hatred had softened into something resembling the fragile green shoots that had started to sprout just weeks prior. 

“And I know we don’t talk about it,” said Túrin, “but…” 

“I love you,” said Beleg. Túrin nodded, and his expression didn’t change, but he leaned in when Beleg reached for his hand. “Ulrad says you and Andróg have… something.” 

“Yes,” said Túrin. 

“I’m willing to start over with him for you,” said Beleg. “You know that, right?” 

“Now I do,” said Túrin, and now he relaxed for real, and Beleg kissed him over the unfurling of the mallow leaves. 

Túrin stepped back, and pulled Beleg with him, and Beleg sidestepped one young shoot to press him against the rough-hewn rock wall, aware of the shivering leaves even as his eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. 

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind him, and Beleg instinctively whirled around to see Andróg standing on the path, wide-eyed. 

“Andróg?” said Túrin. “Hey. I was just going to ask y— ah, shit. Wait!” He jumped over the mallow plot to chase after Andróg, but Beleg held an arm in front of his chest, and Túrin skidded to a halt. 

“Don’t chase him just yet,” said Beleg. “I’ve got an idea.” 

The sun went down; Andróg did not reappear from wherever he’d gone in the endless warren of Mîm’s house. Beleg and Túrin, however, were not about to let him escape so easily. 

“I know you’re back here,” said Túrin, not harshly, but in a tone that brooked no argument. There was a groan from somewhere in the shadows on the back side of the hill, where Andróg had escaped out a back door to sit in the evening chill. 

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

“To tell you some of the first plants grew,” said Beleg, “but I assume you knew that already. More so, we wanted to— well, I wanted to ask you something.” 

There was a movement in the gathering purple of dusk, and Beleg could make out Andróg’s form silhouetted against the darkness of the sky. 

“What?” asked Andróg warily. Beleg cleared his throat quietly, and Túrin handed him a plate. 

“Would you,” said Beleg, “be willing to start over with me? We can make something better.” 

“Can we?” asked Andróg, but he unfolded himself from where he sat and stood up, his eyes sharp in the gloom. Beleg held out the plate with both hands. 

“Sure we can,” he said. “We did this, didn’t we? From the ground up.” 

Beleg watched Andróg stare at the pile of clean, green leaves with a rather overwhelmed expression on his face. A quick glance in Túrin’s direction revealed a slowly growing smile, and a look back at Andróg caught movement as he swallowed, his eyes darting from Beleg to Túrin and back to Beleg. 

He sighed, stepped forwards, took the plate. 

“Okay,” he said, and Beleg smiled; all things grew, not least the hearts of Men, and he was perfectly fine with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> :) I hope you like it!


End file.
